


Ship of Theseus

by unpopcultural



Series: Across the Wasteland [2]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3, Fallout 4, Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Made up of four different stories but there will be a lot of crossover between them, Post Minutemen/Railroad ending of Fallout 4, Post Mr. House ending of Fallout: New Vegas, Post water purifier explosion ending of Fallout 3 (no Broken Steel but Lone Wanderer lives), Smoking/drinking mentions, canon typical language and violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-11-11 09:40:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11145825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unpopcultural/pseuds/unpopcultural
Summary: Sequel to "The Road Ahead." Made up of four intersecting stories in multiple parts."The Replacement": A synthetic Nate emerges from the ruins of the Institute, but the world he remembers no longer exists. Boston is in shambles, Shaun is a synth, and Nora has formed a family with Robert MacCready."Den of Memories": The events in New Vegas have left Nick Valentine a ghost in the Courier's brain. Mari travels to the Memory Den to bring him back, but it will not be easy with the interference of Robert House and Conrad Kellogg."Synth You've Been Gone": Sturges has troubling questions about his past. Deacon tries to help, hiding that he knows more than he lets on."A Publick Occurrence": Jess gets wrapped up in Piper and Hancock's vendetta against Diamond City mayor and accused synth McDonough.





	1. The Replacement, Part 1

_If you are hearing this, Nora... Mother... then whatever conflicts you and I have endured are over. I have no reason to believe you'll honor the request I'm about to make, but I feel compelled to try anyway. This synth child version of me, this..._   _boy._ _He deserves more. He has been re-programmed to believe he is your son. It is my hope that you will take him with you. I would ask only that you give him a chance. A chance to be a part of whatever future awaits the Commonwealth._

_There is... something else. When the Institute scientists recovered me from Vault 111, they also made an impression of my biological father's brain. His personality and memories, all recorded. We created a synth version of my father onto which we loaded these memories. It was my hope that if you chose to work at my side, I could present you with him as an apology of sorts. I do not know if the synthetic Nate will survive whatever happens between us, but if he does, both he and you, and especially Shaun, deserve a chance to... to be a family. Please, take care of them._

 

Nora stopped the holotape and popped it out of her Pip-Boy. All the lights were off in the living room, but the streetlamp outside was enough so she could make out the word "MOTHER" written on the tape in thick, precise writing. Or maybe Nora had just read the word so many times the letters had burned themselves into her eyes. She had certainly listened to the recording enough to commit it to memory.

"Nora?"

The sleep-rough voice startled Nora to her feet. She shoved the tape back into her Pip-Boy and turned to face MacCready, who was standing in the hallway.

"Did I wake you up?" Nora asked.

Mac plodded toward her and wrapped her in warm limbs, resting his head in the crook of her neck. "What are you doing out here?"

"Couldn't sleep," Nora said.

"That's been happening a lot lately," he murmured into her neck, breath hot. He smelled like gunpowder even now.

"This has all been a lot." When Mac tensed, Nora added, "I don't mean you. I mean moving back to Sanctuary and meeting Shaun. And everything with Nick and Mari. It's a lot to take in." She finally returned the embrace. "It doesn't mean I'm unhappy."

Mac pulled back from her. "Why are you wearing your Pip-Boy in the middle of the night?"

"Listening to music," Nora said quickly, then winced. "That's a lie. I've been listening to the holotape again."

Mac was quiet for a moment, eyes shining in the dark. "Do I need to hide it somewhere?" he asked finally.

"Maybe." Her voice was small. She extended her arm, allowing Mac to grasp her wrist with warm hands and unlatch the Pip-Boy.

"If it's okay with you, I'm giving the tape to Jess in the morning."

Nora nodded reluctantly.

"I'm not forcing you to," Mac said, cradling the Pip-Boy in his arm. "It's your decision."

"Yeah. Give it to Jess. I need a break from it."

Mac set the Pip-Boy on the coffee table took one of Nora's hands. "Want to go back to bed?"

Nora let him lead her back down the hallway. They paused at the bedroom Shaun and Duncan shared, checking on the quiet lumps of blankets on each cot. Duncan fidgeted and talked in his sleep. Shaun was always eerily still, lying flat on his back each time Nora looked in on him.

"We'll have to do something special for Duncan's birthday on Saturday," Mac said when she and Nora had returned to their room, the same room she had shared with Nate more than two hundred years ago. "I never celebrated my birthdays in Little Lamplight and I doubt Duncan did, either." He chuckled. "Six years old. Can you believe it?"

Nora hummed in agreement and climbed into one of the two twin beds they had pushed together. "How long do you think before Shaun realizes he's not getting any older?"

Mac exhaled audibly from the other bed, sheets rustling as he covered them both. "Heck, Nora, I don't know. But once Nick's back, Shaun will have someone to talk to about... you know."

"Being a synth."

"Yeah. That."

" _If_ Nick ever comes back."

Mari had already been at the Memory Den for two weeks, no news coming to them from Goodneighbor except Dr. Amari's statement that the procedure was "very delicate." Nora was tempted to travel there herself, but now there was Shaun to think about, and Duncan besides.

"He'll be okay," Mac said.

They lapsed into silence, both of them awake and staring out into the dark room.

"Nora," Mac whispered a while later. It felt like hours had passed but it could have been just minutes. "What about that tape makes you keep listening to it?"

Nora rolled onto her side, facing away from Mac. "What do you mean?" she asked the wall.

"Is it... is it that you like hearing your son's voice?" Mac asked from behind her. When Nora didn't respond right away, he added, tentatively, "Or is it because of Nate?"

Nora rubbed her eyes. "I just like knowing that Father--that Shaun--thought about me. He wanted me to be happy. After the way I treated him... I wasn't expecting that much. And as far as Nate, you heard Jess. He didn't make it out of the Institute. And that wasn't the real Nate, anyway. My Nate died back in Vault 111."

A heavy sigh. "Yeah." Mac scooted closer and wrapped Nora in his arms, his chin resting on the top of her head.

"I love you," Nora whispered.

Mac's laugh was a mixture of amusement and relief. "Love you, too, knockout."

Once Mac was asleep, Nora slid out of bed and padded to the living room, taking the tape out of the Pip-Boy one last time. She traced over the letters on the front and then kissed it, the plastic cold on her lips.

"Goodbye," she whispered, then returned the tape to the table.

 

 

\---

 

 

The last thing Nate remembered was dying. Yet here he was.

Nate opened his eyes and found himself staring up into a star-scattered sky. The ground was hard beneath him, and the air smelled different. Fresher somehow, yet with a hint of something noxious. Nate sat up and evaluated each body part. Only upon finding everything in working order did he notice he was no longer wearing the vault suit, but rather a white uniform, like something a doctor would wear. Or a prisoner.

When Nate had served in the army abroad, he often woke in strange and unfamiliar locations. The only difference was that he usually remembered how he got there. Nate rose to his feet unsteadily and looked around him. Rubble everywhere, dead trees, the shadow of some animal flitting across the grass.

It was then he remembered the bombs. Of course. That was the reason they had gone into the vault in the first place. So if he was outside now, and he was alive, enough time must have passed for the outside world to be safe. Nate wished he had paid more attention in classes. How long had it been since the bombs had fallen? Weeks? Months? That didn't sound right, but nothing else made sense. Nate had vague recollections of the events immediately preceding his death, but they were fuzzy, and besides, he clearly wasn't dead, so how reliable were his memories?

Nora and Shaun. Those were his priorities right now, everything else be damned. The only thing to do now was find them.


	2. A Publick Occurrence, Part 1

"So, Jess." Piper stared at her from over the top of a notepad, a chewed-up pencil clamped between her teeth. She sat cross-legged on her bed in the  _Publick Occurrences_  office, tattered red coat spread out around her.

Jess had taken the metal chair next to the desk. Whenever Piper wasn't looking, she rubbed her hands together for warmth. Piper and Nat's home was hardly dilapidated, but thin cracks in the ceiling allowed the chill autumn air to creep inside.

"I'm glad you took Cait's advice and came to see me," Piper said, plucking the pencil from her mouth and positioning it on the notepad. "Diamond City never gets an outsider's perspective, except for Blue, and let me tell you, they desperately need it. Did you know that some people spend their whole lives in this city?"

"It’s not for me, but I don't blame them," Jess said. “It’s a cozy little place.”

Piper shrugged at this, plucking a cigarette off the ashtray on the desk. "True, but there's nothing wrong with broadening people's horizons. Mixing things up." She jabbed the cigarette in Jess's direction, sparks flickering down to the floor. "And you, coming all the way from the Capital Wasteland. Now  _that's_  variety."

“So did MacCready."

Piper made a face. "Yeah, but I don’t want to interview MacCready. He keeps asking me, and every time it sounds like he’s implying something.”

Jess couldn’t help but laugh. “Nothing to worry about anymore. He’s with Nora now."

"Ugh, really? She could do better. Can't say I didn't see it coming, though." Piper crushed her cigarette into the ashtray. "Anyway, back to the interview. How do you want to be referred to in this?"

"Just Jess is fine. Jess Hurston if you want to be formal."

"No title? I called Blue the 'Vault Dweller.'"

Jess shook her head. "I had a nickname back home, but it was more of an insult. I, uh, wasn’t very popular in the Capital Wasteland.”

Piper's expression softened. "Believe me, I know that feeling. No one likes people who speak the truth.” She smiled. “But that’s why people like you and me gotta stick together. And you've got lots of friends now, seems like."

"I've been lucky here,” Jess said. “Especially with Deacon."

"Let me guess. Is Deacon waiting outside?” Piper asked. “Or for all I know, he's here right now in disguise and I just haven't noticed." Piper peered suspiciously at the lamp. "Hey, Deacon. Nice to see you. Care for an interview?”

Jess laughed. "Nope. Left him in Sanctuary."

"That's a relief." Piper arched an eyebrow. "So for this piece, I was thinking something about the Institute." She paused dramatically, tapping her pencil on the notepad. “We all know it's gone, but we don’t have the details. You were on the scene as it happened. What was it like?”

"Well…” Jess frowned down at her hands. “If I'm being honest, it was terrible. Really, really terrible.”

Piper set the notepad in her lap. “What do you mean?"

“We tried to evacuate everyone, but I’m sure there were some people who died." She tapped her fingers on the desk. "I’m not saying I regret doing it, but I wouldn’t call it fun, either.”

“Interesting take on it.” Piper's eye contact was as unrelenting as always. “I was expecting a different tone for this piece. Something more triumphant."

"Really? From what Nora says, you're all about bringing the truth to the people."

Piper scooted to the edge of the bed, shoes barely touching the floor. “Oh, no, don’t get me wrong! My duty as a journalist is to write the real story. You just surprised me."

"Are you worried how people will respond to the article?"

“Well... things like uncertainly and ambiguity are hard for some folks to handle." Piper paused and looked away thoughtfully. "As much as I disparage the people here, I do care about them and want to open their minds. Sometimes they get angry, and they usually take it out on me. But more important than all of that is the truth."

A child’s voice interrupted them from downstairs. “Piper, there’s a guard at the door for you.”

Piper didn’t make a move to sit up. “I’m not here right now,” she called. She looked back at Jess and shook her head. “Probably McDonough’s people here to yell at me. Anyway, tell me anything you feel comfortable with.”

“Piper,” Nat yelled. “He won’t go away.”

Piper threw her head back and groaned. “All right, all right.” She slid off the bed and turned to Jess. “Want to see some drama?”

Jess stood quickly and removed her laser pistol from her belt. "Are you in trouble?"

“Oh, Jess, this is just another Tuesday for me.” Piper said, bounding down the rickety staircase.

A Diamond City guard wearing a catcher’s mask was slouched against the doorframe. Nat had one hand on the doorknob and was watching him nervously. The guard perked up when he saw Piper and Jess, rubbing his hands together.

 “Well, if it isn’t little miss reporter and my favorite secret agent,” he said in familiar gravelly tones.

Piper raised a hand to her temple. “Hancock? What the hell? You’d better get in here before someone sees through that disguise.”

Hancock walked inside nonchalantly, spinning around to examine the room. “Nice place, Pipes.”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Hancock removed the catcher’s mask and set in on the printing press. A vein jumped in Piper’s forehead. “I can’t drop by on a friend?” he asked.

Piper scowled. “One, we’re not exactly friends. Two, this is Diamond City. Maybe not the best place for a ghoul to be."

Hancock shrugged. “They don’t know who they’re messing with.”

Piper crossed her arms. “I’m going to ask again. Why are you here?”

Hancock rummaged in his pocket for a moment before withdrawing a copy of _Publick Occurrences_. “I've been reading your articles.”

“You read _Publick Occurrences_?” Piper asked, her frown fading.

“Sure do, sister. Like to stay informed.” Hancock unrolled the paper and cleared his throat. “‘McDonough: A name we all know and trust. But do we really know him, and should we really trust him?’ Great line, by the way.”

“What’s your point, Hancock?”

“Look, sister, I know you’ve been writing about McDonough for years. I’ve heard all the rumors about him being a synth. And frankly, with the Institute gone, I don’t care if he is or not. I just know he’s a grade A asshole.”

“Not gonna argue with you on that."

"However," Hancock said, plopping down on the threadbare sofa, "I've been thinking."

Piper sighed. "Sure, make yourself at home."

"Goodneighbor has always been a refuge for ghouls," Hancock said. He pulled a box of Mentats from his pocket and quickly put it away when Piper glared at him. "But the Goodneighbor lifestyle isn't for everyone. I thought that between me and you, Piper, we might have enough leverage to, uh,  _encourage_ McDonough to let ghouls back into Diamond City."

Piper leaned against the wall. "That's... actually pretty nice of you, Hancock."

"What kind of leverage do you have?" Jess asked. "Piper has already accused McDonough of being a synth. What else is there?"

"Oh, did I forget to mention?" Hancock said. "The guy's my brother."

Piper straightened herself. "Don't play games with me, Hancock."

Hancock grinned, clasping his arms over his head. "I get it. You're wondering how someone as charismatic and sexy as myself could be related to that big oaf. How about you grab us something to eat, and I'll tell you all about it?"

 

 

"So what made you suddenly decide to do this?" Piper asked through a mouthful of noodles. They sat on the living room floor with four orders from Takahashi's restaurant.

"Yeah, why now?" asked Nat in a tone similar to her sister's.

Hancock laughed. "You got me. I may have ulterior motives."

Piper exchanged a pained looked with Jess. "Here we go," she said.

Hancock waved a hand. "Nah, it's nothing bad. Well, other than giving my brother a kick in the you-know-whats. It's just that Goodneighbor is at max capacity right now. In the past month alone we've doubled in population. Everyone's welcome, but I hate to have good folks sleeping on the streets unless they damn well want to sleep on the streets. There are some good ghouls out there, you feel? Sensitive ghouls. A place like Diamond City could be real good for them."

"I'm not disagreeing," Piper said. "But it's not just McDonough. Attitudes about ghouls will be hard to change overnight."

"But it's not impossible," Jess said quickly.

Hancock offered her a high-five. "Yeah, sister!" He floated his hand in front of Piper's face. "Well, Pipes? What do you think?"

Piper rolled her eyes, but she was struggling not to smile. "Yeah, all right. McDonough won't stand a chance."

Hancock's grin was deadly. "His two least favorite people in the world teaming up? Nightmare fuel."

Jess checked the time on her Pip-Boy. "I should probably be leaving soon. Piper, can we finish the interview another time? I wanted to check on Mari and Nick at the Memory Den. Are you headed back that way, Hancock?"

"Are you nuts?" Piper asked. "It's way too dark to head back now. We have room for you to stay, both of you. We'll talk to McDonough in the morning."

Jess was antsy, but she couldn't say no to Piper's earnest face. "Well, all right."

"Much appreciated, Piper." Hancock picked up some noodles between his chopsticks. "Jess, that woman you brought back from Vegas with you is real interesting. Spends all day in the Memory Den, all night in the Third Rail. I tried to talk to her the other night 'cause she seemed like a fun girl, but she blew me off."

"Is she all right?" Jess asked. "I've been meaning to go see her but I've been swamped with Minutemen work."

Hancock shrugged. "I'm not the guy to ask about 'all right.'"

"I should have visited sooner. It's been almost two weeks."

Hancock eyed Jess over his bowl of noodles. "Tell you what. If you wanna tag along with Piper and me tomorrow, we can head back to Goodneighbor together."

Piper smiled. "I'll come with you to check on Nick. That means we can finish our interview tonight, Jess."

"So what's this interview about?" Hancock asked, setting down his bowl and leaning back against the sofa.

"Destroying the Institute," Piper said.

Hancock stared at Piper, mouth agape. "So you're asking her and not me?"

"Why would I ask you?"

"I was also there, for your information. Crawled through a sewer and everything."

"Well, I didn't know that."

Hancock popped a couple of Mentats in his mouth before Piper could stop him. "This is gonna be a joint interview, sister." He wrapped an arm around Jess and grinned toothily. "The people of Diamond City are gonna be lucky to get a story like this."


	3. Synth You've Been Gone, Part 1

Deacon sat alone in Sanctuary's garage, nursing a lukewarm Nuka Cola and listening to the heavy patter of rain on the rooftop. He had positioned his lawn chair strategically between the rain buckets to avoid getting dripped on. This position also allowed him to make out shadows in the light of the fire barrel. When footsteps sloshed through the grass toward him, instinct told Deacon to duck under the table or hide behind the workbench. Experience reminded him that Sanctuary was filled with friends, not enemies, and kept him in his chair.

“Hey.” Sturges stepped into the garage soaking wet, the plastic of his safety goggles beaded up with water. Sturges's hair and clothes were dripping onto the concrete floor and Deacon had to tuck his tennis shoes under his chair to keep them dry.

"I'm no expert, but this is probably not the best time to go swimming," Deacon said casually, insides twisting up in a sensation between fear and arousal. Something about Sturges never failed to pique his attention and, more embarrassingly, flood his body with warm affection. For normal people, a little crush wouldn’t be a problem, but Deacon was Deacon, and Deacon didn’t do romance anymore.

Sturges seemed confused, then looked down at himself and laughed. "Oh, yeah. It ain't so bad. We're all waterproof, right?" He slid the goggles down around his neck. “Mind if I join you?” He was holding an unopened beer bottle.

“Sure.” Deacon lifted his own bottle and tried to relax. At least Jess wasn’t there to make kissy faces at them.

Sturges sat on the lawn chair across from Deacon, stretching his legs out in front of him.

“Getting chilly,” Deacon said stupidly.

“Sure is. Must be that nuclear winter everyone's talking about."

Deacon snorted in spite of himself and started drinking his Nuka Cola quickly so he could have an excuse to go back inside. Then he realized that would mean walking back to his house in the rain. It wasn’t that he really minded getting wet, but he didn’t want to look too eager to leave. The attached house was also off limits. Preston and Cait were in there playing the jukebox for the enjoyment of their new Ms. Nanny friend from Vault 81. Damn it. Deacon wished Jess were here, kissy faces or no.

Sturges kept shooting Deacon glances and opening his mouth to speak, then stopping himself. Deacon waited patiently, pretending to look elsewhere. One of the many benefits of sunglasses.

“Hey, mind if I ask you a question?” Sturges finally asked.

Deacon plunked his drink on the table. “Sure.” His voice was pure nonchalance, but if Sturges was going to ask him out, or even just into bed, Deacon didn’t know if he had it in him to decline.

“So, you work for the Railroad and all. You probably meet a lot of synths, right?”

Deacon blinked behind his shades. “Yeah. Well, more in the past than now, but some Institute stragglers are still out there.”

Sturges nodded, picking at the label of his beer. “Do most of those synths know that they’re synths?”

Deacon didn't like the waver in his voice. He stared into his own bottle and swished around the contents. “It depends. I mean, back when the Institute was around, you had people getting replaced by synths. The replacements didn’t usually know they were version 2.0.” Deacon looked up and found Sturges studying him carefully. “The synths who escaped the Institute on their own, now they always knew who they were. But sometimes they decided to have their memories erased and get replaced by new ones. The Railroad helped with that."

“How’d you replace their memories?”

“We took them to the Memory Den in Goodneighbor, where Nick’s at now. I won’t pretend I understand how the process works, though.” Deacon rolled the bottle between his hands. “Are you interested in working for the Railroad?”

“Oh.” Sturges gave a surprised laugh. “No, it’s not that. I appreciate all you folks do, but Preston would kick my ass if I left the Minutemen. Hell if I know how Jess manages to do both. No, I’ve just been thinking. Trying to figure things out.”

“Learning about synths?”

Sturges ran a hand through his wet hair. “If I tell you something, will you promise to keep it a secret?"

"Cross my heart and hope to... be badly maimed."

Sturges looked away. “I can’t… remember things,” he began, voice strained. “There are these gaps where there shouldn’t be gaps. And, Deacon, when we went to the Institute, it felt _familiar_ somehow. And then there are the dreams…” He inhaled deeply.

“Dreams?”

“More like nightmares.” Sturges cleared his throat. “What I’m trying to ask is if you keep records on the synths you’ve helped escape.”

Deacon didn’t need to check a record. He remembered Sturges from about five years ago, back when Sturges had had a designation instead of a name. Sturges had been charming then, too, even wracked with the fear of coursers dragging him back underground.

“I'm not really sure if we keep records,” Deacon said. “That's more of Dez's domain.”

"Can I talk to her?"

"Sure. I can let her know."

Sturges sighed. “Thanks. It’s one of those things where I’m not sure if I really want to know, but I also have to.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.”

Sturges’s eyes widened. “Wait… Are you…?” The question hung there, implied.

Deacon hesitated, all his instincts urging him to lie. “Every time I wake up and see a gray hair I wish I was a synth, but I’m not.” This was true. He had been letting his hair grow out and was horrified at the percentage of strands coming in silver instead of red. “I just meant I know the feeling.”

“Oh.”

“But, Sturges, you should know that for a lot of synths who choose the Memory Den option, it’s because they’re traumatized. Really fucking traumatized, some of them. Leaving their memories behind means letting go of all that fear.”

Sturges gazed down at his oil-stained hands. “Glory is okay, isn’t she?”

“Glory is a tough cookie.” Deacon laughed lightly. “She begged Dez to let her stay on board, and now we’re sure glad she’s around. But Glory isn’t the norm. Are you sure you want to look into this? If you are a synth, you probably had a pretty good reason for erasing your memory.”

Sturges stared out into the street. They watched Strong pass by, impervious to the rain. From inside the house, the Miss Nanny chirped, “Oui, monsieur, please play another.”

Sturges shifted and his chair squeaked loudly. “You know how you can record things on a holotape?” he asked, still not looking at Deacon. “So let’s say I record over what was on the tape before. I’ve replaced ‘The Wanderer’ with, I don’t know, ‘Butcher Pete.’ Is it even the same tape, or is there something different about it now?” When Deacon was quiet, Sturges continued, “If I’m a synth, I don’t know if it matters what I wanted before, because what if I wasn’t even the same person?”

Deacon blew out air between his teeth. “I wish I could answer that, but I’m not the guy for those types of questions. I was never any good at thinking creatively.”

The ghost of a smile appeared on Sturges’s face. “You, not creative? Now that’s a damn lie and I know it. See, the thing about having a reputation for dishonesty means we're all on the lookout for when you're lying."

Deacon lowered his sunglasses a fraction of an inch. “Unless I just want you to think I’m lying.”

He meant this to be funny, even if it was true, but Sturges frowned as if he found the thought profoundly unsettling.

Deacon drained his Nuka Cola and chucked the bottle into the scrap crate. "I know I'm an asshole and all, but if you want someone to come with you to see Dez, let me know. I'm pretty good at buttering her up."

"Not an image I wanted to think about," Sturges said, but his smile had returned. "Yeah, sure. I'd appreciate it."

The door to the house slammed open and Cait emerged, grinning hugely. "You're missing out on a damn good party in there, boys," she said, lighting a cigarette and standing at the edge of the garage. "I never met a robot with such a personality."

Sturges smiled back somewhat uneasily. "Curie seems real nice."

Cait laughed, smoke wafting from her nostrils. "She's so naive. I feel like I'm corrupting her."

"You?" Deacon teased. "You're the epitome of innocence, babe."

Sturges made a face and Cait rolled her eyes. "Yeah, right. I might be clean now, but I can still be dirty." She winked. "So where's your other half, Deacon?"

"Last time I checked, I wasn't missing any pieces."

"You know what I mean. Where's Jess at? Haven't seen her all day." Cait leaned toward the door and shouted, "Hope Preston isn't sending her off to do his chores again!"

Preston's laugh carried from inside.

"He thinks I'm teasing him," Cait said. "I'm not."

Sturges stood. "Looks like the rain's letting up, so I'm gonna head back while I've got a chance." As he moved past Deacon, he patted him quickly on the shoulder. "Thanks for your help."

Once Sturges had disappeared into the curtain of rain, which was as heavy as ever, Cait let out a low whistle.

"Now what was _that_ about?" she asked.

Deacon looked up at the ceiling. "Huh?"

"Are you two...?" Cait waggled her eyebrows.

"Oh." Deacon laughed. "No. I just helped him out with something."

"You're not into  _that_?" Cait pointed in the direction of Sturges's house. She leaned up against the table, far too close for Deacon's comfort, and bent down so they were face-to-face, her freckles standing out against pale skin. Her hair smelled nicer than Deacon would have expected. "What about _this?"_ she purred.

"Sorry," Deacon said. "I'm a solo kind of guy."

Cait smiled and bopped him on the chin with a finger, then pulled away. "I know, you great big bastard. But maybe think about trying to change that. With all of us." She wrinkled her nose. "As friends, I mean. If you'd let us."

"I'll make a note of that."

"Mademoiselle Cait? Are you coming back inside?" Curie called.

"I'm coming." Cait offered Deacon a lopsided grin. "Catch you later, sunglasses."

Deacon let out a breath when she shut the door behind her.


	4. Den of Memories, Part 1

Mari had never seen the Mojave so empty. No humans, no creatures, not even a ramshackle building on the horizon. Just expanses of dirt, sand and cacti stretching to meet the orange sky. A breeze sprayed sand into Mari's face, stinging her skin and eyes. It may have been simulated, but the pricking on her face felt far too real.

"But it is not simulated," Mr. House said. "It is a memory. A memory presented to us virtually, but a memory nonetheless."

Mari looked over her shoulder to see a well-dressed man standing a few yards back. The breeze had no effect on his clothing; the neat folds of his trousers stayed perfectly creased as if they were made of stone. Mr. House had appeared in many forms to Mari in real life: a face on a computer screen, a withered body in a tank, a cruel gaze staring out from Nick Valentine's eyes. She had never seen him like this.

"I thought we weren't speaking," Mari said. "You know, after we tried to kill each other."

Mr. House rotated in a circle, putting a hand to his forehead to shield his eyes from the broiling sun. His forehead was creased in confusion.

"Yeah, I don't know where we are, either," Mari said. "Is this your memory, or mine?"

Mr. House just looked at her with narrowed eyes. Of course he wouldn't say. The sooner Mari was able to separate the four of them in the muddled mass of memories, the sooner Mr. House would be truly dead.

Mari crossed her arms and sat down on the ground, leaning her back against a cactus. "Dr. Amari?" she shouted.

No response, as always.

"Dr. Amari, this memory is useless."

"She can't hear you," Mr. House hissed, still standing where he had appeared.

"You know, House, you're not so scary behind the screen," Mari said, kicking her heels into the dirt. Mr. House's sneer deepened. "Let me ask you something. Have you ever been in a fight before, like a real fight? I don't mean with the securitrons. I mean an actual fistfight, _mano a mano_. Cause if you're up for it, we could have a go right now."

Mari could sense Valentine's presence then, although he didn't manifest physically. Mari expected him to chide her for acting childish. Instead, she felt a wave of amused approval. She grinned.

"Miss Lopez," Mr. House said sternly, erasing her smile.

"What?"

He spoke as if it pained him. "Perhaps... Perhaps I have been too hard on you. I have a proposition..."

Thankfully, Mari didn't have to listen to whatever Mr. House was about to say, for Dr. Amari's voice boomed from the sky.

_This memory does not seem to be what we're looking for._

Mari threw up her hands. "Finally."

 _I'm going to pull you out while I tinker with this_ _._

 

 

Mari gasped for air and clenched the armrests in the lounger. She was never any good at waking up from the memories. She began coughing violently, leaning out of the lounger when Amari lifted the glass top.

"Are you all right?" Amari asked.

Hacking still, Mari gave her a thumbs-up.

Amari returned to the computer. Once Mari caught her breath, she lifted herself to her feet shakily, leaning on the chair for support. Across the room, Nick Valentine's old body lay in the other lounger, eyes open and blank. The yellow light had gone from them, leaving cold, gray emptiness.

Amari looked back at Mari through a pair of smudged reading glasses. "I really am sorry for any discomfort."

Mari stumbled to the counter to pour herself a glass of water. "How come no one else wants to cough their lungs out after a ride in these?"

The technology can't be expected to work the same on everybody," Amari said, tapping the backspace key. "The loungers certainly aren't designed for those with injury-induced amnesia. Or those with cybernetic enhancements."

It was only Mari's cybernetic enhancements that allowed them to do this without a synth, in fact, as her robotic upgrades served as a conduit for everyone else's memories. However, there were two major drawbacks to this situation. The first was that Mari was not a synth, and the human parts of her brain screamed against the constant intrusion of others' thoughts like a body rejecting a transplanted organ. The second was that, unexpectedly, Mari didn't get to leave all her companions behind in the lounger.

 _Sure you're doing okay, kid?_ That was Valentine.

"I'm fine. Thanks."

 _Why don't you take a break? You look like you could use it._ Kellogg this time, bitingly sarcastic.

"You can shut the fuck up," Mari told him.

Amari cocked an eyebrow. "Are they talking again?"

Mari sighed. "It's pretty much all the time, doc. Used to be they'd leave me alone when I slept, but now..." She stopped. She didn't want to explain to Dr. Amari the dreams she had had last night.

Amari shook her head. "This isn't good. We should have made more progress by now."

"It's my fault. Well, the crater in my head's fault." Mari kneaded the circular scar on her forehead. "If I could just tell you which memories were mine, it would be easier."

"What we need are strong, clear memories," Amari said. "Things that could apply to you, and only to you, even if you don't actually remember the events. Same goes with the others."

"It's not like I'm controlling where we end up," Mari said, trying not to snap at her. Dr. Amari was intense, but she had been generous these past two weeks, more generous than was fair. Without fail, Amari invited Mari to have dinner with her and her family every night, and every night, Mari would refuse. But it was still nice to be asked. It was more than anyone else in the Commonwealth had done for her since she'd arrived. Mari didn't know why she had expected anything different. These people weren't her friends. They just wanted Nick Valentine back.

Amari sat down in a desk chair and peered at Mari intently. "Shall we try one more today?"

Mari drained the rest of her water. "Why the hell not?"

 

 

The four of them, standing in a square in the middle of an office.

The interesting thing about their memory avatars was that they portrayed each person's self-image rather than their actual physical selves. Nick Valentine was human right now (although he sometimes took a synth form in the memories, and seemed perplexed each time his appearance changed). Mr. House was himself at his pre-war fittest. Mari had never met Kellogg in real life, but in the memories he was usually a middle-aged man, bald and scarred. Mari wasn't quite sure what she looked like to the others. They weren't exactly chummy with each other, and she hadn't come across any mirrors.

Mari glanced around the room. An unlocked computer terminal sat on a desk, mundane objects cluttered around it: a coffee mug, a clipboard, a few old magazines. The floor and walls were remarkably clean. In another room, a radio played Skeeter Davis's "The End of the World."

"Definitely not mine. Never been in a pre-war office," Mari said. In frustration, she smacked her hand against some metal shelving and hissed in pain.

Nick strolled to the desk. "It may be ringing a bell for me, but excuse an old synth for being forgetful." He ran his fingers across the wood, then started and held his hand up to his face, wiggling the fleshy digits.

The door swung open and a young brunette woman entered the room with an armful of folders.

"Nicky!" she exclaimed, staring at an empty space in front of the bookshelf. In the woman's surprise, she let a few of the folders flutter down to the tiled floor. "I didn't know you were here! Annette didn't tell me when I came in."

Nick stared between the woman and the empty air to which she spoke, his mouth hanging open. "Jenny?" He tentatively reached out to touch her, but at the last second left his hand suspended in the air above her shoulder.

Mari swallowed. "You know her?"

"Jenny. My fiancee," Nick said, eyes misting. His human eyes were a lovely shade of brown. Nick sighed and shook his head, withdrawing his arm. "Was my fiancee. Was the original Nick's fiancee."

Mari tried not to hear the break in his voice. "She's beautiful, Nick."

Nick smiled fondly at the woman, who was chattering to the air. "I never thought I would see her again."

The woman asked the invisible Nick to come with her, and she stepped out into the hallway with one hand trailing behind her, apparently being held by someone else. The new Nick moved to follow.

"We don't need to go with them," Mari said. "We already know..." The words died in her throat at the look on Nick's face. "I'm so sorry. Go ahead."

Nick stopped walking and looked down at the ground, then cleared his throat and offered her a smile. "No, you're right, doll. No use dwelling in someone else's past."

Kellogg was sitting on top of the desk now, looking bored. Mr. House hadn't moved from his original spot, although now he was crossing his arms and scowling at Mari.

"Miss Lopez, if you would spare me a minute?" he asked.

Mari leaned against the wall. "What do you want from me? An apology for trying to kill you?"

"You do realize that if your plan works, I will be as good as dead anyway?" Mr. House finally moved, this time to approach Mari. Before she could react, he was so close that their faces were merely inches apart. Mari refused to back away, glaring into his eyes. They were a similar shade to Nick's, with none of the warmth. "Our friend, Mr. Kellogg, will also die. That's what I wanted to discuss."

Kellogg stared down at the floor resolutely, but Mari could tell he was listening.

"Right now, we have no incentive to help you." Mr. House breathed into her face, voice a murmur. "Mr. Valentine does, as he has a body waiting for him on the other side."

"Now wait a damn second," Nick began.

"I'm not getting you two your own bodies," Mari snapped. "That's what you get for being terrible fucking people."

"Don't act so high and mighty," Kellogg spat from the desk. "We've seen your shitty past, too."

Mari's face burned. She met Nick's gaze and quickly averted her eyes. "I'm not helping you. This isn't up for debate."

Mr. House's smile made her shiver. "Then do not expect this process to become any easier."


	5. The Replacement, Part 2

Hours bled into one another in cramped hiding spaces caked with dust. Through holes in the wall, Nate watched creatures out of old horror movies shamble across the dirt.  He drank boxed water that burned his throat. He ate nothing. Nearly two days had passed, but he did not sleep.

When he was not hiding, Nate navigated toward Vault 111 with and half-dissolved memories of Boston's layout. He wanted to blame his faulty sense of direction on the dilapidated state of the buildings and his time asleep (for clearly, he had been asleep for a long, long while), but he still figured he should have reached the vault by now. His head felt filled with cotton.

Nate was a practical man. Nate had enjoyed teaching Nora self-defense strategies in his months between deployments (those months always passed by so quickly). For a law student with no military experience, Nora had picked up on the lessons quickly. But Nate knew Nora and Shaun were probably dead, even if they had made it out of the vault. This new world was a harsh one.

Another hour passed and Nate finally admitted to being hopelessly lost, certain he had already passed that bookstore. He collapsed on broken concrete stairs in front of the shop and buried his face in his arms. Sleep tugged on his eyelids, and he would have let himself drift off, exposed and defenseless, had the thud of power armor boots not startled him awake.

"Halt, civilian! Hands where we can see them."

 

 

\---

 

 

Elbows-deep in a washing bucket, Nora sat on an upturned crate in her front yard, soap suds and grimy water sloshing onto her shirt each time she pushed the clothes down. Sturges had been nothing less than a genius in the rebuilding of Sanctuary, but even he had neglected to build a washing machine. This was Nora's chore today, to wash not only her own clothes, but everyone in Sanctuary's.

It wasn't fun, but the fact Preston was giving her Minutemen work meant they had finally reached an understanding after Nora's flight from the Commonwealth last May, which had been an utter abandonment in Preston's eyes. Nora understood her betrayal acutely, had understood it even as she left. At that point in time, Nora had been the Minutemen's last hope. If it hadn't been for Jess and the Railroad, Nora might have been responsible for personally handing over the Minutemen's death sentence.

"Mom."

Nora yelped and accidentally sent a wave of water splashing onto the grass. "Shaun! You startled me."

"Sorry," Shaun said. Duncan was at his side, head barely reaching up to Shaun's elbow. "I was wondering if we could go over to Red Rocket?"

"What? Why?" Nora shook her arms, drops of soapy water scattering everywhere.

"Sturges said there's a lot of cool stuff over there."

"Maybe he can go with you?"

"He went somewhere with Deacon. Anyway, it's right across the bridge."

"We can yell if we need help," Duncan added, bouncing on his heels.

"Yeah, really loudly," Shaun said.

Nora turned to Shaun and smiled. "You need a haircut, kiddo." She ruffled it with a damp hand. At the Institute, Shaun's hair had been kept short and severe. Now it was spiraling out past his ears in curly tufts. He looked so much like Nate it made Nora's chest ache.

Shaun squirmed under her hand. "So can we go?"

"Duncan, is your dad okay with it?"

The look the boys exchanged told Nora they hadn't asked, but MacCready himself happened to pass by a moment later wielding a rusted gardening hoe and a scowl.

"What happened to you?" Nora asked as he chucked the hoe into the grass.

"That Miss Nanny," Mac said with venom, brushing mulch off his sleeves. "She's lived in a vault for the past two hundred years, but somehow thinks she knows more about gardening than the rest of us."

Nora winked at him. "She probably does."

Mac sat down in the grass tenderly. Mac had been shot in the ankle just a month prior, and despite dozens of stimpaks and his claims that he had healed completely, Mac was still careful to keep pressure off his left side. "I've lived on a farm, Nora."

Nora brushed aside a stray hair and tightened the bandanna she was wearing as a headband. "But did you actually do any farming?"

"Dad," Duncan broke in. "Can me and Shaun go to Red Rocket?"

Mac shrugged. "I guess so. Need some protection?" He pulled a pistol from his belt and offered it handle-first to Shaun.

"Mac!" Nora hissed, slapping his hand.

He grinned up at her and withdrew the pistol. "I'm just kidding."

"Don't worry, Mom, we don't need guns," Shaun said seriously. "I can always build something if we get into trouble."

"That's... reassuring, I guess. Just be careful."

Once the boys had disappeared over the hill, Mac pulled himself to his feet and pressed a kiss to Nora's temple. "If I didn't know you better, I'd say you're turning domestic. Washing clothes, looking after the kids..."

"Hah. Well, I was a stay-at-home mom, remember? For a few minutes, at least."

 Mac crossed his arms and watched Nora wring out a pair of jeans. "Far be it from me to tell you what to do, but I don't think it suits you."

"Oh, yeah?" Nora cocked her head. "And what does? Charging into battle?"

Mac grinned slyly and leaned against her. "You're good at it, you know. I think I fell in love with you when I saw you with a sniper rifle for the first time."

Nora bent down to face the laundry bucket, hiding her smile. "That's weird, Mac."

"You have to admit, it's sexier than doing the laundry."

 

 

 ---

 

 

Three soldiers in power armor, two women and a man, regarded Nate with steely expressions as he stood up and lifted his trembling hands to the sky.

"You don't know how good it is to see another human being," Nate said, voice rough from disuse. "I didn't know anyone was left. You have to help me, please. I don't know what's going on, or how I got here. I'm military, too."

"Military?" asked one of the women, balancing a minigun on her leg. "What military?"

"I was in the 108th Infantry Regiment. Second Battalion. My name's Nathan Bachman."

The woman raised her eyebrows. "Second batta-- I have no idea what you're talking about, sir."

"Just leave him, Haylen," said the second woman. "We have better things to do."

"But you have to be military," Nate said, his voice raising in pitch. "You're wearing power armor. You--you have weapons. You're the only ones around here who haven't turned into zombies!"

"We're from the Brotherhood of Steel," Haylen said, keeping her gun aimed at Nate's face. "Or what's left of it... I don't know what 'military' you're looking for, but we're not it."

"Maybe he's a raider," said the other woman.

"Or maybe he's a synth," the man chimed in. "Look at his clothes. What kind of raider wears a suit like that?"

"Shit, you're right. You think Danse sent him after us or something?"

"Danse wouldn't do that," Haylen said sharply. "He promised to leave us alone."

The man huffed. "It promised Elder Maxson, and I don't see Maxson around anymore, do you? I know you have a soft spot for that _thing_ , but--"

"Shut up," Haylen said through clenched teeth. "Just shut up, Gavil."

"Please," Nate interrupted. "I just need help. I have to find my wife and son. The last time I saw them, they were in Vault 111. We were all frozen, and then I woke up near C.I.T., or what used to be C.I.T."

"C.I.T? Told you he's a synth," Gavil said.

Haylen peered down at Nate with an odd expression. A few locks of hair had slipped out of her hood; they whipped about her head in the wind. "Your family was... frozen?"

"Yes, in Vault 111. I don't know why. It was some sort of experiment, or something." Nate took a deep breath. "I don't know what a synth is, but I'm not one. Look, I'm not even armed. I don't want to hurt you. I doubt I could, even if I did want to."

Haylen's eyebrows knitted together. She extended a hand. "I'm Scribe Haylen. These are Knights Davis and Gavil."

"Scribe! Don't tell him our names."

Nate's heart thudded. He extended a hand out to meet Haylen's and she gave it a firm shake. "Did you decide I'm not a threat after all?"

The corner of Haylen's mouth quirked upward. "No offense, but you don't look very dangerous."

"So can you help me?" Nate asked. "I'm just trying to find this vault. It's near Concord."

"I suppose we can take you to Concord." Haylen glanced at the two knights. "We're headed up there anyway, right?"

"Absolutely not, Scribe," Davis said.

Haylen's eyes narrowed. "Isn't that our duty? Maxson wanted to rid the Commonwealth of the Institute. Why do you think he wanted to do that? To keep innocent civilians like this man safe. I think it's only fitting that we do the same, in Maxson's memory."

"I should think a scribe would have a better understanding of our philosophy," Davis muttered, "but if it will get us moving, then fine, this man can tag along." 

 

 

\--

 

 

Dinner in Sanctuary was rather subdued that evening. Jess was in Diamond City; Preston, Cait, and the Longs had set out for Sunshine Tidings on Minutemen business; and Deacon and Sturges were still wherever they had run off to.

Everyone who was left sat down to eat at splintering picnic tables, where Sheffield and Mama Murphy doled out soup into chipped plastic bowls.

"We also found a couple of hot plates!" Shaun told Tinker Tom, ignoring his soup and rifling through his duffel bag. "Do you think I can make something with those?"

"I bet you could, kiddo."

"Shaun, let Tom eat," Nora said. "You can show him everything after dinner."

"Nah, I don't mind," Tom said, but Shaun had already zipped up his bag and picked up a spoon.

Nora had her own spoon halfway to her mouth when the sound of turret gunfire erupted from the other side of Sanctuary.

" _Mon dieu_. What was that?" Curie asked, floating past from the garage.

Nora stood. "Who's on guard duty right now?"

"Codsworth and Strong, I think," Mac replied, readying his rifle. "Wanna check it out?"

Nora nodded and they jogged to the guard posts near the bridge. The turrets had stopped firing, but Codsworth was jabbering angrily at a man in power armor, who was standing a few feet back. It was getting dark; Nora couldn't make out the man's face.

"Hey, what's going on?" Nora shouted. "Who's there?"

"Metal human wants get into Sanctuary," Strong explained.

"Nora? Is that Nora Liu?" the man called out. "My name is Danse. Do you remember me? You did me a great service at ArcJet."

"This man thinks the Brotherhood of Steel is welcome here," Codsworth snarked, turning his three eyes to Nora.

Nora holstered her pistol. "Hey, calm down. Everyone is welcome here," she said. "Paladin Danse, you can come closer."

Danse coughed. "It's, uh, no longer Paladin, ma'am." He stepped forward and looked at Codsworth. "And I am no longer in the Brotherhood of Steel."

Nora raised her eyebrows. "Really? What happened?"

"I'd rather not go into it right now." Danse stopped in front of Nora, towering at least two feet above her head.

MacCready was scowling spectacularly. Nora ignored him. "Can I interest you in something to eat, Danse?" she asked. "We're having dinner right now."

"Oh, no," Danse said. "And I'm sorry to interrupt. I just wanted to relay some information to you."

Anxiety bubbled up in Nora's stomach. "Shit. Listen, I'm really sorry, but I had nothing to do with what happened to the Prydwen."

"No, I'm not referring to that. This is more personal in nature." Danse glanced around at the various glares being directed at him. "May we talk in private?"

 

 

Nora and Danse had only met twice previously. Nora had never seen Danse outside of his power armor, and it was a bit strange to have him sitting on her living room couch in civilian clothing. He looked more human this way, somehow vulnerable despite his bulk.

"Nuka-Cola?" Nora offered.

Danse shook his head. While Nora was pouring herself a glass, he said, "It's probably for the best that I never convinced you to join the Brotherhood, after everything that has happened with them."

Nora sat down across from him. "Sorry about all your friends on the Prydwen. I know that must be difficult."

"Friends?" Danse laughed humorlessly. "They wouldn't have liked to be called my friends."

Nora peered at him over the rim of her glass. "Do you mind if I asked why you got kicked out? I mean, I assume that's what happened. I just don't understand it. You were really passionate. Like, more passionate than I've ever been about anything."

Danse struggled to keep his face composed. "That is kind of you, but I was... simply not what they were looking for in a Paladin."

Nora shrugged. "Their loss, I guess." She knotted her fingers together. "So, what do you need to tell me, Danse?"

"Ah, yes. That." Danse clasped his hands together. "I have been keeping tabs on some of the soldiers who survived the destruction of the Prydwen," he said. "I'm not proud to admit that fact, but I want to make sure they're safe, especially Scribe Haylen. I owe it to her. So I have been following them at times. Today I overheard something that I think may concern you."

Nora set down her glass. "Tell me."

 

 

It took MacCready an hour to find Nora in the side room of the Red Rocket station. She had brought along Dogmeat, and the two of them were sitting on the cold concrete floor, his furry head in her lap.

Nora said nothing. She waited for Mac to yell at her for disappearing, but he just crouched down next to her. For a few moments, they quietly shared the space, Nora's jagged breathing the only sound breaking the silence.

"I got the tin can to tell me everything," Mac said. "I had to threaten him a little bit. I hope you're not mad about that... It was nothing bad. I didn't hurt him or anything." Mac paused, then cleared his throat. "So, how are we feeling?"

Nora pressed her face into Dogmeat's fur. "How do you think I'm feeling?" she asked, voice muffled.

"We don't know it's really him, Nora."

"Who else could it be? There weren't any other survivors of Vault 111. Shaun would have no reason to make synth versions of any of the others who died. No reason at all."

Mac stared at the shadows playing on his hands from the single naked lightbulb. "Are you sure you can trust this Danse guy?"

"He's not the friendliest, but he's not a liar, either." Nora lifted her head and finally looked Mac in the eyes. "I'm surprised how calm you're being. I thought you would be more worried, or something."

"I mean..." Mac shifted uncomfortably and exhaled through his nose. "Should I be?"

Nora stared at him.

Mac left the question hanging in the air, then repeated, more emphatically, "Should I be?" He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it sticking up at awkward angles. "Nora?"

"No," Nora said in a small voice. "No, Mac, you shouldn't be worried. Not after everything we've been through."

Mac grasped her shoulder with a calloused hand. "Then let's go back home and go to bed, okay? You don't want to sit in a cold room all night. We'll talk more in the morning."

Nora allowed Mac to raise her to her feet. She patted her pants pocket to check for Father's holotape before realizing she had given it to Jess.

"How are the kids doing?" Nora asked once they stepped outside the gas station. The night air chilled her, and Mac wrapped an arm around her when she shivered.

"I put them to bed before I started looking for you, but they're probably up wreaking havoc."

Nora smiled, but caught herself looking at the horizon to see if a familiar silhouette was approaching. Her smile slipped when she remembered that Nate's body was buried at Sanctuary.

It was like she was waiting for a ghost.


End file.
